Chapter 390: Slaying Wolves

The lead wolf halted its steps, tilting its head to look at him.

It has lived many years, having seen the herders on the Grassland, the caravan guards, and hunters wielding knives.

But it has never seen a child like this—alone, with an iron club, walking toward the pack, with no fear on its face.

Zhu Qiong Jiong took another step forward.

The wolves began to stir.

A few young wolves leaned forward, then withdrew.

They were waiting for the alpha wolf's command.

The alpha wolf did not move.

It stared at the child, the green glint in its eyes flickering.

Zhu Qiong Jiong halted, switching the Wolf Fang Club from his right hand to his left, then back to his right.

He had performed that motion countless times, on the Training Ground of Sa Ma Er Han, beneath the walls of Constantinople, and on the battlefield by the Danube.

The lead wolf let out a sudden low growl.

The sound was not loud, but it was full of menace.

The pack began to contract its circle, slowly pressing forward.

Zhu Qiong Jiong moved.

He charged forward three steps, his speed uncharacteristic of a nine‑year‑old child.

The lead wolf had not yet reacted when the Wolf Fang Club already struck its head.

"Bang!"

The sound was dull and crisp, like a Stone hitting hard wood.

The alpha wolf's head tilted to the side, its body sagged and collapsed, its four legs twitched twice, then it stayed still.

The pack erupted.

More than twenty wolves let out low growls in unison, lunging from all directions.

Zhu Xiongying's legs trembled, but he did not flee.

He pulled Zhu Gaochi down from the horse, shielding him behind, a short sword held horizontally across his chest.

Zhu Qiong Jiong stood amid the wolves, sweeping the Wolf Fang Club left and right.

The first swing struck a gray wolf's waist.

A wolf's waist is its weakest point; with that blow the wolf's spine snapped, its hindquarters collapsed, its front half kept crawling forward, emitting a mournful howl.

The second swing hit a black wolf's head.

Brain matter burst; the wolf died without even a cry.

Third swing, fourth swing, fifth swing…

Zhu Qiong Jiong's Wolf Fang Club whirled like a pinwheel; each strike felled a wolf.

He neither dodged nor flinched, neither retreated nor yielded, just standing there amid the pack, hammering swing after swing.

The nine‑year‑old boy was drenched in blood, his face splattered as well, yet his eyes shone terrifyingly.

That gaze was exactly the same as his father's on the battlefield.

Zhu Xiongying watched the scene, his mouth agape, unable to close for a long while.

He had heard of Zhu Qiong Jiong's deeds on the battlefield, of him single‑handedly breaching an entire wall, of him chasing the Ottoman Marshal's banner for several miles.

But he always thought those were exaggerations, old soldiers bragging.

Now he knows, that was no bragging.

Zhu Gaochi hid behind Zhu Xiongying, poking out half his head, watching the blood‑soaked cousin.

His hand trembled, not from fear but from excitement.

He pulled out the little notebook he never left behind, opened it, his pen‑hand shaking, yet he wrote a few words: "The nineteenth year of Hongwu, Grassland, Brother Qiong Jiong single‑handedly fought the wolf pack, killing wolves…"

Zhu Xiongying heard the rustle of pages behind him and glanced back.

Zhu Gaochi squatted on the ground, using the faint dusk, writing character by character, Pangpang had instantly become a historian.

He suddenly thought that these two younger brothers were each more abnormal than the last.

The pack's offensive began to wane after Zhu Qiong Jiong had slain over a dozen wolves.

The remaining wolves retreated to the edge of the hollow, whimpering, daring not to charge forward again.

The ground was littered with wolf corpses, some still twitching, others already motionless.

The air was thick with a heavy scent of blood.

Zhu Qiong Jiong leaned on the Wolf Fang Club, standing amid the corpses, panting heavily.

He was drenched in blood, unable to tell which was the wolf's and which his own.

He looked down at himself, seeing several claw marks on his arms, a bite wound in his pant leg, though no flesh was pierced.

He grinned, exposing a mouth missing a front tooth.

Distant, rapid hoofbeats echoed.

Zhu Xiongying looked up and saw a Black Horse galloping from the east; the rider wore dark ordinary robes, with two hammers hanging at his waist.

Zhu Yong halted the horse, watching the scene before him.

In the hollow, twenty‑odd wolf corpses lay haphazardly, the air thick with the heavy scent of blood.

Zhu Qiong Jiong stood amid the corpses, drenched in blood, the Wolf Fang Club braced in his hand, grinning at him.

Zhu Xiongying stood a short distance away, his complexion ashen, clutching the short sword, blood still dripping from its tip.

He had slain two wolves, two that had tried to attack Zhu Gaochi from the side.

Zhu Gaochi squatted on the ground, notebook and pen in hand, writing at a rapid pace.

Zhu Yong's gaze swept over the three children and finally settled on Zhu Qiongjiong.

"Are you hurt…"

"No, it's all wolf blood." Zhu Qiongjiong wiped his face; the blood on his hand smeared onto his face, making it even messier.

Zhu Yong dismounted, walked to his son, crouched and examined the scratches on his arm. They were shallow, just superficial wounds, no stitching needed.

"It's okay." He stood up and patted his son's shoulder.

Zhu Qiongjiong grinned even wider.

Zhu Yong turned and looked at Zhu Xiongying.

His nephew's complexion was still pale, but he stood upright, the knife in his hand still unsheathed.

"Xiong Ying, how many did you kill…"

"Two." Xiong Ying's voice was a bit tense, but still steady.

Zhu Yong nodded and then looked at Zhu Gaochi.

The boy was squatting on the ground, still writing.

"Gaochi, how many did you kill…"

Zhu Gaochi lifted his head and said seriously, "Second Uncle, I didn't kill any wolves; I was recording."

Zhu Yong's mouth twitched, and he didn't ask further.

Zhu Biao caught up from behind, with Zhu Huanhuan and several guards following him.

He dismounted, hurried to Zhu Xiongying, and sized him up from head to toe.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, Father, I'm fine."

Zhu Biao looked at the short sword in his son's hand, its tip still dripping blood.

He was silent for a moment, then nodded, "It's okay."

Xiong Ying was startled for a moment, then smiled.

If his father says "it's okay," then it really is okay.

Zhu Huanhuan walked to Zhu Qiongjiong, crouched, took out a handkerchief, and wiped the blood from his face.

Zhu Qiongjiong grimaced as she wiped him, but didn't dodge.

"Sister, I'm fine."

Zhu Huanhuan said nothing, cleaned the blood from his face, then inspected the scratches on his arm, confirming they were shallow, and only then stood up.

"Let's go back and apply medicine to you," she said.

Zhu Qiongjiong nodded and obediently followed his sister back.

Zhu Yong and Zhu Biao walked at the rear.

"Second Brother, this kid Qiongjiong is even fiercer than you were back then," Zhu Biao said, looking at the blood‑soaked youth ahead who was shouldering a Wolf Fang Club, his tone tinged with emotion.

Zhu Yong thought for a moment and said, "Maybe it's because he follows me."

Zhu Biao gave him a glance and said nothing more.

Back at the camp, the sky was already pitch black.

Zhu Huanhuan lit a Fire Pit to boil water and cleaned Zhu Qiongjiong's wound.

The scratches on his arm were shallow; he applied ointment and wrapped a few turns of cloth.

Zhu Qiongjiong sat by the Fire Pit, gnawing on a piece of lamb, his mouth dripping with fat.

It seemed he had already forgotten the wolf‑killing incident.

Zhu Gaochi squatted nearby, still writing.

"Gaochi, are you done writing…" Zhu Qiongjiong leaned over to look.

Zhu Gaochi closed his notebook and said seriously, "Finished. Brother Qiongjiong, how many wolves did you kill just now?"

"Can't count, maybe… a dozen or so."

Zhu Gaochi flipped open the notebook, glanced, and said, "I counted: there are nineteen corpses; you killed fifteen, Xiong Ying killed two, and two escaped."

Zhu Qiongjiong was startled for a moment, then grinned, "You still have time to count."

Zhu Gaochi also laughed.

Xiong Ying sat on the other side of the Fire Pit, holding a bowl of milk tea, sipping slowly.

His complexion had returned to normal, but his hands still trembled slightly.

It wasn't fear; it was excitement.

He had killed two wolves with that short sword.

One thrust into a wolf's neck, the other into the other's chest.

The feeling of the blade entering flesh, he would never forget in his life.

"Xiong Ying, what are you thinking!" Zhu Biao sat down beside him.

Xiong Ying shook his head and said softly, "Father, I'm wondering if Second Uncle felt the same way back then under Kaiping City."

Zhu Biao was silent for a moment, then said slowly, "Your Second Uncle, back then under Kaiping City, killed people, not wolves."

Xiong Ying was startled for a moment, then nodded, saying nothing further.

Night deepened, and the campfire gradually faded.

A few children slipped into the tent, and soon uniform breathing sounds could be heard.

Zhu Gaochi was still flipping through his notebook, writing line by line by the faint candlelight.

Zhu Biao and Zhu Yong sat side by side by the Fire Pit, gazing at the star‑filled sky.

"Second Brother, tell me, can Xiong Ying become a good Emperor in the future?" Zhu Biao suddenly asked.

Zhu Yong thought for a moment and said, "I can."

"Are you so sure?"

"Big brother, he didn't run today, protected Chi Er, even killed two wolves; a fifteen‑year‑old child, being able to do this much is enough," Zhu Yong said calmly.

Zhu Biao was silent for a long time, then finally nodded.

In the distance, a wolf howl rose over the Grassland, bleak and lingering.

Those were the two wolves that had fled, calling for their packmates.

Zhu Yong stood up, walked to the horse, took down two drum‑vessel golden hammers and slung them on his waist.

"Second brother, where are you going?"

"I'm going to finish off those two wolves as well, keep them; we still have to go tomorrow." Zhu Yong flipped onto his horse, gave the horse's belly a squeeze, and the warhorse bolted away, disappearing into the night.

Zhu Biao sat by the Fire Pit, watching his younger brother's departing silhouette, a faint smile curling his lips.

This person looks exactly the same as twenty years ago.